A Helping… Hand (?)
by Piatot
Summary: Alicia needs Kalinda's help, and the investigator is very much... willing.


**For sweetjamielee's The "Plan B" 2013 Summer Ficathon**

**TITLE: **A Helping… Hand (?)

**PROMPT:** Alicia needs Kalinda's help (season 5)

**A/N: **Again, I will have to say that I don't own them, that I am just borrowing them, for the last time in this ficathon.

TeamSharma – I don't know if this is what you had in mind, but even if it isn't, I hope you will still enjoy this. :)

To all Kalicia-shippers – may we never lose hope. Until next ficathon!

* * *

I am a nameless thing, although I belong to a huge family that's known as Zippers. We are not usually given a name at birth, because we remain generic. Anyway, with the millions of us being made everyday, I doubt there would be enough name combinations to give all of us.

For the sake of my story, you can call me Zippy.

So, I am Zippy, and this is the story of my death.

* * *

I was made in a place far away from where I ended up.

We all do.

I came from the orient, where the air is more humid, and the sun is hotter. My siblings were shipped the same day we were created, all seven hundred of us. We all belonged to the same family, same color, same length, tooth size, same everything. We came to the United States bundled by a friend, a fabric named Strip. She was very gentle, she was. She hugged all of us and protected us from getting lost. Of course when we finally arrived in the factory, we all had to be separated, and we had to marry different fabrics so we can bring happiness to those who are willing to adopt us.

Some people paid a lot of money to adopt us, and some who are lesser fortunate don't bring in that much money, and they don't get taken care of. Some who are even more unfortunate don't get to be adopted and they get to divorce their fabrics so they can remarry and try to be more appealing to the eyes of our foster parents.

I've heard talks from our creators that we usually don't last that long, and that our purpose was to provide security to our parents, to cover them up well enough and to not embarrass them by laughing and opening our mouths, especially on public events.

I thought that was easy enough – although I've always thought that I should serve a greater purpose.

I know that most of the members of my Zipper family are content in making our parents happy with the security they bring in their clothes, and don't get me wrong – I am happy to do that too.

I just know I have a greater purpose.

* * *

My parent's name is Alicia. Alicia Florrick. She's the governor's wife now. I am really proud of her.

I remember the time she bought me.

It was four, five years ago, when she had to start working. I sympathized with her, of course. I also knew that if it hadn't been for that twist of fate, I wouldn't have had such a great parent.

I was one of the lesser fortunate ones that had to be sold at a lower price. Of course, for members of the Zipper family, when one is married to a tag that has a name, we won't really be cheap. I am married to a Calvin, and it is more expensive to adopt me than with whom my siblings ended up with. My adoption papers said $50.00. I don't know much about my other siblings, but I know my papers cost a lot more.

When Alicia brought me home, I was quivering inside my bassinet. Let me say this though: I thought that when she tried me on, we fit perfectly, and I was really elated when she chose me over the others she tried on.

Anyway, I thought that I was going to be the odd-one-out, but I really wasn't. There were a lot of cocktail dresses married to Zipper family members I knew, but there were also ones who were just like me. Up to now, I think she didn't really need my husband and I – that she just purchased us because we looked good.

On her first day of work, I met a lot of the people she was going to work with. The exceptional one was the woman named Kalinda Sharma. Her suit was as proud as she was. The Zipper family her pants belonged to was a popular one – they are from old money, expensive ones too. They did not even recognize us – but their parent, Kalinda, I mean, although she was proud, there was something about her that seemed very approachable.

I really liked her.

And my parent I think liked her immediately.

* * *

I have really enjoyed every minute of the time I spent with her. She was a very good parent. She always made sure I was clean. She washed us with just the right amount of soap, used top-of-the-line fabric conditioning to make sure we would live longer – she really did everything to take care of us.

A parent should never play favorites, I know, but I knew I was hers. I know this because she uses me at least twice a month – and there were a lot more of my foster siblings that she hasn't used in a long time. I, sorry, we were very convenient for her, and I personally made sure that I protected her.

Years and frequency of use, of course would contribute to our eventual demise. The fact that I stayed alive this long is a testament to her love and care, but we were only made to last a few years.

And so today, I failed her.

I failed to protect her, and I knew I was closing in my last few zips.

* * *

We entered the loo as we would in most days – nonchalantly. I should have made it known that I already wasn't feeling well, but because I wanted to be good to her, I didn't say anything. I tried, I really tried to have one more normal day with her, but everything changed after that.

After doing her business, she tried to coax my arm to lift it and protect her, but I no longer could.

Protect her that is. I lifted my arm uselessly, tried closing my smile, but it wouldn't. My teeth are caught in an eternal grimace, and somehow, her skin can be seen through. I felt so sorry for her when she cursed out loud. I swear I really didn't mean for this to happen. It felt like I developed a stroke and I couldn't move anything.

"Damn it, damn it!"

Damn it, I echoed her thoughts. She was a couple of hours away from her closing, and I had to fail her this way.

I was grinning wide enough and I knew she couldn't change into something – first because she didn't have a change of clothing, second because she really couldn't go out hiding my smile while she passed by people.

I was certain it was my fault.

While she tugged and pleaded at a deity to let her out of the mess I buried her in, we both heard the distinct clacking of heels.

I personally knew it because there were times that this person visited my parent's house for cases in the past. She was also the one who delivered me to Alicia when mom wasn't able to go home because she was held up by Louis Canning.

I remembered that day very well.

I first heard her heels muted by the carpet. I waited for several seconds, minutes. I simply sensed and from beyond the wooden doors perceived that she was opening and closing drawers. There was silence in some spaces, and some deep inhalation. I just thought really hard what was going on.

A few minutes later, she opened our room and looked. She looked at all of us first – her eyes were definitely alight with the beams of curiosity, but her face was strangely set stolid. It was stoic. Almost. It was even the perfect mixture of impassivity and confidence. Her jaws were clenched; her mouth sealed shut, lips pursed. But her eyes and eyebrows did a series of plié and relevé – and I know she was just starting with her routine.

Her hands reached out, graceful and soft and touched my foster siblings and I. She was probably looking for the best fabric, among all of us. But she closed her eyes and leaned forward – and then she inhaled deeply. I didn't know what she was doing, perhaps she was looking for the best-smelling one. She needn't worry though. All of us smelled good – mom made sure of that every time she washed us.

She held her position for several seconds, continued to close her eyes and to run her hands on our surfaces. After some time, she felt me. She opened her eyes and lifted me from the rack. She examined me at arm's length, continued to caress me until satisfied, she stuffed me into the giant carrier with my favorite foster sibling (he looks good on us).

Now, mom and I could both hear her heels, and I wanted to catch her attention. Mom cleared her throat and the heels stayed still.

"Hello?" said heels.

"Kalinda?"

"Yes?"

"Kalinda – I…"

"Where are you exactly?"

"Here," from under the hem, I saw her feet pointing outwards, until it reached the threshold.

We both hear the clacking again as heels approached us.

"What's the matter?"

"Kalinda – I…" Mom repeated the same things over.

"Alicia, what is it?"

Mom was never the person to say exactly what she wanted. I knew things haven't been the same with her and heels; I haven't been seeing nor hearing her. Mom hasn't been feeling good about the alienation after she left her old work. I sensed it from the stress I have been getting these past few months – I have been tugged at harder, and I felt like I was holding in more than I used to.

Maybe that contributed to my demise, but like I said, I was very happy to serve.

"What do you need?"

"I had an – accident. Do you have anything that can cover my… pants?"

I heard the door stall rattling.

"Open up, please."

"I just… I just need something…"

"To cover up your pants, I know. I heard you. I need to see what needs to be covered."

Mom sighed and I could feel the start of a yawn. And I couldn't yawn – it would be disastrous.

I saw the door parting and Kalinda standing in front of us. She was looking at me intently, and I was afraid I was looking quite literally worse for wear.

She bit her lip before saying, "let me just rush to your house and get you something to replace that with."

"Oh, oh… no, n-no… you don't have to…"

"Look, you'll have your closing in a little more than hour – you can't go out looking like that. And I know shortcuts."

I wondered how she knew mom was going to have her closing soon, but I had to agree with her suggestion.

"No… don't worry…"

"Give me your keys. I'm sure there's no one at home. Unless you want me to use my credit card and bobby pins?"

Mom sighed again and I felt my mouth part a millimeter. We both started sweating and I knew that she didn't have a choice but to allow Kalinda to rescue her.

"Here." Mom reluctantly handed Kalinda the keys. The other woman looked at her pointedly, and she smiled a very weary smile.

* * *

She came back in thirty minutes flat. We were both surprised because it usually took more than that. During rush hour, it would take three times as long. Of course when Kalinda rapped at the stall, mom stood in attention. I was really afraid that I might burst and that I was drawing in my last few breaths. It was good that she came back so soon, however she managed to do it.

"Here you are," Kalinda swung a garment bag over the stall, and waited for mom to hold onto it. I felt mom shiver, maybe because of relief, or maybe because of something else.

"Kalinda… if it's not too much…"

"Do you need help in changing your pants?"

I slipped a millimeter further – I thought she was funny. The dying would never lose sense of humor.

"Actually, I need help with the… zipper." Mom opened the bathroom stall once more and motioned Kalinda to come in. The woman raised her eyebrows but came inside just the same.

There were small stalls inside, and one stall barely held them together. Not even an arm's length separated them. Mom had to lean flat against the wall to allow Kalinda space.

As the investigator dropped to her knees, I felt a little bit of relief. Mom gasped, giving me some space to breathe too. I could see Kalinda's face squarely. She, on the other hand, could see almost through me. I couldn't hide mom's black bikinis, her pale skin and the rouge that was slowly creeping all over her skin.

Of course she would feel hot – there were two of them inside the stall.

Kalinda was studying me intently, she might be thinking how to put my arm all the way down without hurting both mom and I. Worse comes to worst, of course, I was okay to suffer the pain – I was inches from death after all.

Kalinda smoothed her hands onto me, trying to remove any wrinkles, I would presume. I felt the heat emanating from mom, and she started breathing in a little faster – if she continued this, we wouldn't need Kalinda's help and I would just open.

My partner fabric whispered to me and mentioned he was drowning down there. (Whatever that meant!)

So, she touched my arms with her forefingers, gripped them gently. She raised them up and just as quickly yanked them down.

I couldn't believe I was still alive. I could feel myself nearing the light though.

She started pulling us down carefully and I was slipping in and out of consciousness.

"What are you doing?" Mom sounded a little breathless. She probably was having a difficult time breathing.

Kalinda met mom's eyes squarely. "I thought you needed help changing?"

I could hear mom gulp; she took a deep breath and we slipped all the way down to the floor.

"Just give me the pants."

Mom wasn't moving, she wasn't even breathing. If she was, she was doing it with really shallow ones.

So Kalinda stood up and unzipped the wardrobe bag and eased out one of my foster siblings. She went down on her knees again and removed us from around mom's ankles. She lifted each leg carefully and used her other knee to prop mom's foot up. I could see mom looking up, unwilling to watch Kalinda.

And I was afraid for her. She was too flushed, too breathless.

Kalinda shifted to the other leg after she had successfully bunched up my siblings on mom's right knees.

She took a few seconds to fully lift and cover mom's entire legs. I saw that the sides of her thumbs were grazing mom's thighs. I looked at mom and her eyes were closed.

I heard the sharp zipping of my sibling's followed by Kalinda's whisper.

"There we go."

She was standing face to face with mom. She was looking at her as she rearranged and laid us against the arm of the hanger.

She was still staring, unblinking, at mom's eyes as she slowly lifted the wardrobe's zipper, until all that I saw was darkness. I still continued to hear mom's heavy breathing, heard Kalinda's heels and the opening of the bathroom stall.

"Kalinda?" Mom's voice was hoarse. The poor thing. "Let's… have a drink some time."

"Sure." The other woman said breezily.

I didn't really die on that day, but maybe a few months after.

Most of us couldn't really say that they have contributed a lot to our foster parents – but that day, I knew that I brought them together again.

Because after that, buried deep in mom's closet, I heard Kalinda's constant presence in mom's room.

I could hear laughter once more.

A lot of sighing.

A lot more moaning.

And equally as often, high-pitched sighs. Or screams.

Whatever that means.


End file.
